


❊ The Quarantine Diaries ❊

by Mythstaken



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythstaken/pseuds/Mythstaken
Summary: Ever wondered how Buffy and Dean are spending Quarantine? (  For @SaltBurned )
Relationships: Buffy Summers & Dean Winchester, Buffy Summers/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 7





	❊ The Quarantine Diaries ❊

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

It was day forty-something. Buffy knew the day, she had just checked it off this morning. Forty.... forty-three, yup! There it was, in a neatly scrawled tally titled “The band tee’s of Quarantine.” Since this whole end-of-the-world-and-toilet-paper thing had started, she had been keeping tally of how many of Dean’s band shirts she could go through before the world was back to normal again. The fangs and monsters kind of normal (even they had been laying mostly low for the last bit.) She knew black was always a win, but seriously, they could be a little more colourful. 

They had made a deal that she would get through all of his band shirts before this thing was over (her thinking she could get through it, him giving her a “yeah right” look) and... she hated to say it, but she thought she kind of underestimated how many of the same kind of shirts he had. And he said that SHE had a lot of clothes. Seriously, who needed all these black shirts with different variations of the same font, different words? Clearly him. Buffy had opted for a Motorhead shirt today.

His closet had been a quarantine project of hers, having rearranged the flannel, shirts, jeans and jackets into different sections of organization. I mean, seriously, this could be an ad for... hunters. Buffy should have her own Netflix show, like Marie Kondo.

Most people would be going out of their minds having stayed inside their homes for so long and there probably might have been some, “Here’s Johnny” happening somewhere, but they had made due. Sanity wasn’t exactly a staple here in the first place. This seemed like almost the perfect outcome for them. I mean, come on, being stuck with her boyfriend who she went weeks without seeing sometimes? They definitely didn’t take being together for granted. Though, a little out of their minds was getting to be a possibility. Hey, you try going without killing a fang for a while. It was like an itch she knew she couldn’t scratch, and ugh, it was super itchy and made her want to scratch all the more.

Though, it was a matter of them driving everyone else in the Bunker crazy from their antics opposed to anything else. Their new way to entertain themselves was to hide in the corner of the hallways when they knew the other would be approaching and go in for the tackle. What? She was keeping her skills sharp. Giles would have been proud. Sometimes, Buffy ended up lugging Sam and not Dean, but hey, skills were skills and they were being oiled. 

Of course, sometimes, there was too much honing of the skills (the library, she learned, was not the place to tackle’n’run) and her and Dean ended up making a mess of some carefully ordered archives. 

“I feel like I’m living with two kids,” Sam had grumbled, while Dean and Buffy tried giving their best bashful looks that earned long sighs and looks of parental disappointment. 

“At least you didn’t walk in on Buff and I doin’ it this time,” Dean told him, a shit-eating grin on his face as she brought a palm over her face as if it would alleviate the burned-into-her-brain memory. “Twice,” he added, under his breath, unable to hold back the smugness, as the blonde elbowed him on his side.

Sometimes, they didn’t make it to his room, okay. They were human. Two cooped up, totally insane about each other humans, who were brimming at the restless seams because they couldn’t scratch the fang-itch, so they had to be flexible.

Sometimes, Buffy wondered if Sam and Castiel kept a tally of their own when it came to catching Dean and Buffy in...compromising positions. Sam was probably counting the days more than they were. 

Buffy had just finished the last of a cookie that she had made a few days ago (a batch of snickerdoodles — Dean’s favourite), walking towards Dean’s room and opening the door in her usual dramatic flair, something she did at least six times a day.

“Make way for your favourite Slayer,” Buffy spoke as if she were addressing a crowd. Her crowd was singular — Dean, who was sitting on his bed and whose eyes did not leave the t.v screen. She looked over to what he was watching and rolled her eyes. The flash of a cowboy hat told her all she needed to know. Someone was probably fisting some dollars into someone else.

A theatrical sigh left her lips, flopping onto the bed, echoing an, “I’m bored.” 

Buffy peered up at him through a squinted eye to see if he was hooking onto her bait. Deadpan. He popped a chip into his mouth from the bowl sitting next to him. She rolled closer to him, stretching out her body like a cat as she tried again with more emphasized elongation to words, “I said I’m bo-rree-d.” 

Buffy saw that twitch to his mouth. Sucker couldn’t hide it. “I didn’t hear that, Buff. You’re what now?” 

He looked down at her with a smile and she knew she had his attention. Ten points for Buffy.

“I know your true love is Baby and then these cowboy movies, but sometimes, I’m here too, you know,” Buffy told him, giving him an A plus puppy look.

He looked down at his watch, wearing an amused expression, “It’s only been 26 minutes since the last time you came in here, shrimp. You beat the last record. Impressive.” 

“Oh, so we are keeping tabs now, huh? Well guess what?” She pointed at his shirt that she was wearing, “Day 43, baby. No repeats as of yet. So, next time that you want to tell me that I already have that shade of lipstick...”

She took one of the pillows from behind him and tossed it at him to make her point, but before she could, he caught it and pulled it to him, pulling her closer and bringing her on his lap to face him. 

“At least five of those lipsticks are the exact same colour. Exactly the same,” Dean declared, sounding completely confident.

Men. Didn’t they understand undertones and hues?

“Actually, they’re not. They might look the same but they have different undertones that make them appear cooler or brighter depending on—“

Buffy didn’t get to finish her speech because his mouth pressed down against hers in clear indication that he didn’t care at all about the composition of lipstick (it was a science, okay.) Not that she minded, because she was totally content being melty Buffy against him. He hadn’t shaved and tickled against her, causing a warm prickle to skin. Hmm, long gone were the days she liked complete smoothness. What could she say? Her tastes were… well, they were Dean, plain and simple. When he pulled back, there was a look on his face that made insides feel all buttery and warm. Done baking, sooooo done baking. 

“You never play fair, you know that?” She told him. 

“Never said I would.” 

A loopy smile unfurling along lips as she settled in against Dean, turning towards the t.v. 

“Okay, come on. Who does that? First of all, you don’t go for the small guy. You go for the bigger guy first and seriously? Guns?” She scoffed. “Of course.” 

Buffy felt him try to hide his smile in her hair, but he was bad at it. 

“Don’t you ever get bored of watching the same movie over and over?” She looked up at him, genuinely curious, and he looked like she had just offended him. Or Baby.

“Buff. This is a classic trilogy. It’s an honour to get to watch it again and again. This isn’t just some C grade movie. You’ve got some fine work from Leone and, man, have you seen the way—“ He suddenly stopped in his explanation, eyeing her with interest before saying, “I was talking in one ear and out the other, wasn’t I?”

“Great detective skills, cowboy,” the Slayer said, wearing an innocent smile before shaking her head, “No, I was listening. Fisting dollars in cowboys is really important.” She nodded her head, completely Buffy-tactic and serious, though the twinkle in her eye lacks the memo. 

“Now, come on, let’s go do something.”

“I am doing something,” Dean said, pointing to the t.v.

“Ooo, want to bake some more cookies?” She asked him. Sure, when they baked together, it was more flour on the floor or themselves and him wanting to give himself salmonella because he couldn’t keep away from the dough, but it was always fun. Especially when he distracted her with that mouth of his (that had been the second time Sam had....) “I’ll even make brownies.”

That brought out a hearty laugh from him. She had felt inspired yesterday after binging some Spring Baking Championship episodes with Jack to try and make an assortment of baked goods. Except... she accidentally added baking soda instead of powder (an honest mistake, okay) and guns were drawn when they heard the massive KA-POW coming from the kitchen. 

It had been a brownie-plosion inside the oven that had been a good arm workout to clean. 

“Mhm, what about working on Baby? She might need a tune up,” Buffy innocently suggested, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“I’m sure that has nothing to do with you wanting to see me workin’ under her, does it?” A quirk to the brow issued a coy shrug from Buffy. He knew her well. Damn it. 

“Yeah, well, if I happened to watch you work on her as you got all greasy and dirty, then it’s a win-win, situation, right?” 

She would never get tired of watching him work on her. Sure, Baby was always contending with his affections but seeing his muscles doing that muscley thing and the concentrated look on his face when he tuned her up? It was what dreams were made of and that was what Hilary Duff had been singing about, Buffy assures you. 

She looked at Dean for a long moment, and from the look on his face, she knew he could tell something was brewing. 

“What’s up, fun-size? Do I want to know?” 

She sat up, running a hand through his hair before she cupped his chin in her hand, angling his face this way and then that before casually saying, “Have I ever told you that you have the perfect face for highlighting and contouring? Those cheekbones would be even more defined—“

Her hand was off his face in an instant, the shake to his head absolutely vigorous, “Get any of that stuff near my face and I swear....” Threat rolling off his tongue. 

“It feels good. The brushes are relaxing. It would be just like when I do facials on you with all the masks and stuff.” 

“Shhhhh.” 

“Oh, so that has to be on the down-low, but suddenly they can’t hear when you tell me to be louder? Something smells fishy here and it isn’t the non-existent fish.” She does her infamous Buffy pout, voice laying on thick with the sugar, “You have the perfect lashes for applying mascara and—“

The look he gave her told her she was trying with a brick wall. 

“Fi-iiiine, spoil my fun and say no to your ever adoring girlfriend who never says no to you,” She tells him, crossing her arms and sitting up against the headboard. Buffy didn’t do a good job of acting cross because he had his arm around her in seconds, bringing her in against his chest. 

She didn’t say anything, a small, content smile on lips as she let herself relax against him in the shape of his Buffy sized blanket, watching the rest of the movie with him (and watching him during moments, too. It was the child-like reactions that never failed in making her heart go mhhhhhmmmm.) 

No matter how much she complained or joked, she was happy getting to spend any amount of time with him, doing something that he liked to do. Because when it came down to it, he sat through her melo-dramatic soaps and ice-skating competitions without complaint (Buffy knew he enjoyed them for more than just their skating outfits.) 

“So... speaking of face masks....” 

She looked up at Dean with curiosity as he spoke the words. Was he going where she thought he was going with this? 

“I think my skin might need some of that stiff green stuff you use,” He went on slowly and carefully, studying Buffy’s sure to be excited reaction.

Buffy perked up, already thinking of using her jade roller and jojoba oil on him. 

“I suppose Buffy’s Spa could be open for service,” She mused casually. “You know, for favours.” 

“Trust me, sweetheart, I’ll return double,” the arrogant underlining saturated his voice, making insides tickle. 

“What a loyal client,” Green eyes flash mischievously, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips before getting off the bed. “Let me just go grab some things and cut up some cucumber slices and—“

“If Sam asks, I’m eatin’ a salad.” 

“That won’t set off any alarms or anything,” A playful roll of Buffy’s eyes. Buffy stops just as she is about to leave the door, remembering something she had wanted to tell him. “Ooooh, and there’s this fake bloody tongue prank video I want to show you. I think we can pull it off on everyone later.”

“Buffy...” Dean started to say, but she interrupted him with a bright smile, making a show of flipping blonde hair over her shoulder, “I’m awesome, I know.” 

“Not even half of it,” He tells her, and it is that look on his face that makes her blow him a kiss before settling into something more business appropriate, throat clearing. 

“Now, get into something more comfortable, like your bathrobe. Or nothing. Your choice. Get under the covers and get ready to be pampered, Mr.Winchester.”

With that, she slips out the door, making a mental list of all the things she needed in one trip as to go undetected. Not that she wouldn’t be taking any pictures or videos for empirical evidence. Dean got really into the whole pampering thing. 

Sure, they weren’t out fighting fangs or ripping them a new one. This not-apocalypse was a little different than the rest of the ones they had faced, but it gave her quality Dean daydream time and that was something she never took for granted, not ever. Only advantage of. 

Hmm, she might even go with the rose water route today.

Maybe this quarantine thing wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
